


Some kind of disaster

by Infinity_Sansa



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BDSM, Bottom Tony Stark, Depressed Tony Stark, Dom Peter Parker, Dom/sub, Identity Issues, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Misunderstandings, Protective Peter Parker, S&M, Sub Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Top Peter Parker, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29961141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinity_Sansa/pseuds/Infinity_Sansa
Summary: Peter Benjamin Parker is fifteen and does not have a plan. He has superpowers, geeky friends, side jobs and a confusing life, but nothing could have prepared him for this.Maybe he shouldn't have lied about his age. Maybe he should have left the moment Tony Stark laid his eyes on him.As they say, what's done is done.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	Some kind of disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm Sansa!
> 
> The following story takes place in the MCU, including the Iron Man movies and the Avengers movies (eventually). It does not take into account the Tom Holland movies even if the Spider Man characters in this look like them, but I changed the timeline so they don't really work. In this story, Peter is older compared to the Avengers' timeline, so everything changed in accordance.
> 
> This first chapter takes place in the second Iron Man movie, just after Tony trashed his own birthday party.

It all started because of a series of odd and unfortunate events.

By the time Peter Benjamin Parker reached his fifteenth birthday, he was almost a man. His uncle was killed a year ago and simultaneously, he became a vigilante after being bitten by a radioactive spider. That was enough problems for a mere teenager without adding financial turmoil to his already tumultuous life.

Because of that, he was always running after small jobs to make ends meet. That was his life and it wasn't ending soon, with all the debts Aunt May accumulated after her husband died. Peter had to take two part-time jobs after school to help her. It was tiring and stressful and he didn't have time to spend with his friends but it was his duty as the only man in the house, or something. Aunt May was always busy, always working, always doing something to forget that her dear husband wasn't with her anymore. How could Peter leave her like that?

So he had two side jobs: journalist for an online journal that paid him with tips and virtual money, and delivery man for a lebanese restaurant (that one was at least paid with real money but it wasn't much). For both of them, he had to lie about his age. People rarely accepted to hire fifteen years-old out of the blue like that. When you added his extra "job" as Spiderman, his days and nights were full enough without having to add another activity to it. As a result, friday was always the worst: he had school during the day and at night, he worked and patrolled until morning. Without the superhuman stamina he gained with his spider powers, there was no way he would have lasted this long.

Of course, the incident happened a friday night.

Peter should have seen it coming. This certain friday afternoon, Ned came to talk to him as soon as the bell for the last class rang. Ned was always ready for trouble when school was over.

"Hey Pete, you busy this sunday?"

Peter's best friend knew that friday nights and saturdays were off-limits, with all his extra jobs and homeworks. Sundays were different: he only had to help do the chores at home. It was the only day when Peter could play a little (as long as it wasn't too expensive). He looked at the agenda in his phone, just to be sure.

"I'm cool this sunday. What do you want to do?"

Ned's smile became a little naughty. The last time Peter saw this smile, it was one month ago, when his friend tried to go to school with the hoverboard he built himself in his garage. Needless to say, it didn't exactly work as expected. The first five seconds, the board did float over the ground, but soon weird noises came from the motor followed by a thick cloud of smoke. The next minute, Ned crashed in the bushes outside his home. Good thing Mr Leeds never bothered to prune them.

"You remember this Discord server for gamers?" Ned said. "There's a girl who's interested in me, and sunday she invited me and my friends to this place where she works. It's a gothic coffee shop behind the skate ring."

"A what? This really exists?"

"Yeah, I looked it up, it's the whole gothic experience with mourning clothes and everything. Wanna come?"

"I don't know. It's... weird?"

They stopped in the hallway just outside class to talk. MJ saw them and went to see what they were doing.

"What's up, losers? I heard the word "gothic"?"

"You wanna come too? It's a gothic coffee shop, sunday. One of the waitresses will be my future girlfriend."

"Let me guess, in exchange for your patronage or something?"

"Yeah, something. Come on, it's interesting!"

MJ laughed out loud. She was always like that, MJ: every time something she found interesting came out, she was there to try it, be it a new game or an accessory she liked. There was a time when Peter couldn't have enough of her and even tried to seduce her, well if by seduce you meant trying to talk to her without looking like a complete moron. Fortunately for his wounded pride, he found out soon enough that she was a lesbian. They bonded over their disastrous ways of flirting with girls.

"For once, I agree with you," she said. "What's the time?"

"I don't know, lunch? Come on, Pete, you gotta come too! You see, MJ's coming!"

Peter rolled his eyes. There was no way Ned would let him go this easily, not when his love life was this close to exist. He really hoped the girl was worth it.

"Okay, okay, I'll see what I can do! At noon, like usual?"

Ned made a face. That was not a good thing.

"Before that, you see, there's this dressing code we must follow to enter..."

"Yes, I see, and no."

"Come on, man!"

"What again? You know I don't like dressing codes!"

"It's not my fault! If you want to enter you must be gothic! Or at least wearing black with an accessory or two!"

"Cool!" MJ exclaimed. "I always wanted to try the full gothic garb!"

Peter glared at Ned. He knew it. Ned was a mobile trouble machine all by himself. He wondered how he managed to stay alive for so long.

"I don't have gothic clothes!" he complained. "The nearest thing I have is a partly black shirt with a big Captain America drawing on it!"

"Aw, shit man... Can't you find something? Even a black jean is better than nothing!"

"No! I don't have the money for that!"

MJ looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Wait a sec, maybe I have something for you! Do you have some time before your job tonight?"

Peter looked suspiciously at her.

"One hour and twenty minutes, commute time included. What do you have in mind?"

"I have a cousin who's into this gothic thing, and he's about your size. He can lend you some of his clothes, but we have to go at his home now or we won't have the time. I'm calling him."

Peter rolled his eyes. More things to do and places to go. He hoped Ned would get the girl, otherwise it would be a huge waste of time.

"Okay, let's go quickly then."

*****

MJ's cousin was a nice guy named Sam who lived in an appartment near Peter's working place. That was a great coincidence, so Peter agreed to let them play dolls with him to see what outfit would suit him the best. Sam was a full-fledged gothic afficionado so the number of clothes and accessories in his dressing wasn't small, far from it. He worked at home, that was why it was so easy for MJ to get a hold of him.

"Hi, Aunt Sally!" she said to the woman who opened the door. "I came with a friend to see Sam!"

"Hi, Mary-Jane. He's upstairs, you know the way. Hello, young man."

"Hello Ma'am, thank you for having me here."

Peter smiled at the middle-aged lady and followed MJ to the first floor. Sam was waiting at them at the entrance of his room. He was a small man in his twenties, dressed with black leather pants and a black shirt with a grey tie on it. His hair were long and spiked on the side, his makeup, although thick, had a certain charm if you liked black and white patterns. He greeted them with a small grin.

"So, cousin, you have an outfit problem?"

"Not me, my friend," MJ said while pointing at Peter. "He needs a gothic outfit for this sunday, but for that we only have an hour starting right now. Can you do something?"

Sam looked at Peter, made him turn around. He nodded.

"I'll see what I can do."

After nearly an hour of tests, they finally opted for a goth rock look: black leather pants and battle boots, with an Iron Maiden t-shirt and a leather jacket over it. They added a spiky belt, matching wristbands and a choker, as well as a fake earring. After they worked on his hair with a ton of hair gel, Peter looked like the singer of an indie music band.

"We'll add the makeup sunday morning," Sam smiled, seemingly satisfied. "You look fantastic!"

"I agree with him," MJ nodded. "Can you do something about me, now?"

Peter looked at his phone. 5:45pm.

"Shit! I'm gonna be late!"

"Relax, you'll be there in ten minutes by train," MJ said.

"I have to change back! Where are my clothes?"

"I left them in the bathroom," Sam said. "Gimme a sec."

Sam went out of the dressing room to search for Peter's clothes. He came back a few seconds later, looking sheepish.

"Sorry, mom came and mistook them for my week clothes. She put them in the washing machine."

"WHAT?!"

"I'm sorry! You can take the clothes you have on you if you want, I'll give yours back when they're dry!"

"Oh my god, my boss will kill me if I go to work with these!"

"Sorry!"

In the end, there was nothing they could do so Peter reluctantly went to work with his current outfit. MJ swore to give him back his clothes the next time they would see each other, and he rushed to the train station to go to work.

Turned out Mr Khalil, the restaurant owner, didn't mind his new look. Peter explained what happened with a string of apologies on his mouth, but Mr Khalil only laughed it off and told him to go to work. The restaurant was too busy to send him home anyway.

He started with a series of deliveries in the neighborhood. Most of the restaurant's customers knew him and were surprised to see his new look, but it was New York so nearly no one complained. Let the kid have his gothic phase, it was nothing compared to the group of thugs that sometimes plagued the streets.

At 8pm, Peter had to stay during half an hour at Mrs Sanchez's home to help her clean her small studio. It was something he did every friday night to help her. The poor woman was seventy-five and partly deaf; friday was the only day when her helper couldn't come to do the chores. Mr Khalil always sent him at the same time every week, and he even paid the extra work to Peter. As for Mrs Sanchez, she happily chatted with him while eating the small salad she ordered.

"Would you look at that," she complained loudly. "What a hoodlum! Can you believe it?"

The thing that made her react so harshly was a footage of a party in Malibu where Iron Man, aka Tony Stark, made a ruckuss after getting drunk. The man was known for his shenanigans so it was hardly surprising, but what revolted her was that he wreaked chaos while being in his superpowered suit. The man completely slaughtered the place where the party took place, it was a miracle no one was severely hurt. Peter looked at the tv screen at the moment the camera zoomed on Mr Stark's inebriated face. He chuckled.

"He looks so goofy," he said. "Do drunk people always look like that?"

Mrs Sanchez shook her head. She might be old, but her mind was still clear.

"They all look different. Don't ever touch alcohol, Peter. Not even a drop. It changes the nicest man into a demon."

Peter knew Mrs Sanchez lost her only son to a traffic accident. The poor guy was drunk when he hit a family of four with his car, killing them and himself on the spot. The guy was Mr Khalil's best friend, that was why his boss sent him to take care of her like that. She was a sweet woman, but the loss of her husband and then her son made her look ten years older.

"I finished everything, Mrs Sanchez.," he said gently. "Do you want me to take out the trash?"

"Oh, already? That's a pity. The time you're staying here is always so short."

"I'll try to ask for a longer time next friday, if you want. Mr Khalil..."

"Oh no, no, don't bother Hakeem! I know he's sending you out of pity for me. I don't want to keep you from your work, here, look into this drawer, would you?"

Peter opened the drawer she showed him. Inside, there was a small bag of candy.

"Take it with you, it's my thanks for all the chores you do. Don't worry, they should still be good."

"Are they mints? I don't really..."

"They were my son's favorites, he always brought them back from Mexico. What did he call them? Coke candies? I never really liked them, they always gave me headaches."

Peter had a bad feeling. He tried to sniff them, after all they were maybe like the beverage sort of candies? They weren't brown nor labelled, but maybe it was a local mexican product? An innocent local mexican product with a misleading name?

The smell almost made him barf. Nope, he wasn't misled.

It was cocaine candy.

"You're right, I think I'll take it with me," he smiled nervously at the old woman. "Thank you, Mrs Sanchez."

He said goodbye and rushed to throw the candy away, but then his phone rang. It was his boss.

"Yes, Mr Khalil?" he answered in a rush.

"Ah, Peter, did you finish with Maria? We need you here, quick. We just had a ton of orders. A bunch of excited men decided to celebrate a bachelor party with mezze and chawarma. They paid five hundreds dollars in advance."

"Wow! I'm coming fast!"

It was a bad timing, but the bag of tiny drugs would have to wait till he finished his deliveries. He shoved it at the bottom of his bag. Later. For now, he had work.

*****

Four hours and a shitload of food later, Peter finally ended his shift. He only had a last pre-paid delivery to make and after that, he was free to go. Mr Khalil told him to go home once he finished this last one and thanked him for his efforts.

So there he was, at midnight, with a bag of chawarma and tabouleh in hand, strolling the streets of New York until he reached the adress of the delivery, the infamous Stark Tower. How ironic, after what he heard about the disastrous party at Malibu. He hoped whoever ordered the meal was at least sober enough to gossip about his boss, so he would have something to discuss with Mrs Sanchez the next time he saw her. Even without it, it was a good anecdote: he went to the Stark Tower the night Tony Stark made a huge scandal at his own birthday party. He could say he had glanced at the darker side of the Rich and Famous. Or something. He was too poor and insignificant to get any unwanted attention anyway.

While parking his bike, Peter wondered if he had any chance to meet the owner of the building one day. Of course, like any other New Yorker, he knew of Anthony Edward Stark, the famous billionaire who was also a superhero known as Iron Man. Who didn't? Stark was already renowned before his superheroic days for being an excentric and hedonist man with money to spare. He was someone so out of reach, it wasn't even funny.

For this reason, Spiderman also knew of Stark. It was unavoidable, really. Both Iron Man and he were superheroes in red garments operating in New York City, but the similarities stopped there. The shiny infamous hero in armor and the secret vigilante guy were as opposite as the day and night. They only saw each other from far away and every time, it was during a time of crisis so Spiderman had all the time to run away before Iron Man could apprehend him.

Peter raised his head to admire the view. The Stark Tower was a formidable building of steel and glass that dominated almost all the skyscrapers in New York. Despite that, he never went inside: first, he didn't have a reason to, then the security was so tight it didn't let a single fly enter without triggering the alarm. Even Spiderman never climbed it in fear of being caught.

To his surprise, there was no guard at the entrance, nothing. The doors were closed and no light shone on the inside. Peter looked at the adress on the bag again. It said Stark Tower, no doubt about it. Was it a prank? Weird. The person who called already paid the order, so if it was really a bad joke, at least he would have a free meal to bring with him on patrol. He looked around, just to be sure. There was an intercom at the entrance, should he ring it?

He didn't have the time to do that: all of a sudden, the screen lighted up and a scruffy voice came out of it.

"What is it? What do you want?"

"Hum... Hello. I'm here for the order you passed, Sir. I suppose it's you?"

There was a long silence at the end of the intercom.

"What's your name? Age?"

What a weird thing to ask. Maybe the man was paranoid? Peter put on his best smile in case he was filmed on camera.

"I'm Peter, Sir. Eighteen years old, at your service."

It was a complete lie, but better be safe than sorry. After all, it was the fake age he gave to Mr Khalil so he could work for him. If the guy on the phone was someone with integrity, he wouldn't leave alone a minor working at this hour of the night.

"I'm opening the door," the voice said. "Take the elevator to the last floor. Don't worry about the flying recorder, it's standard security. I won't keep any footage."

"Ah, okay."

Peter followed the instructions he was given. He was just a delivery man anyway, so he just had to drop this and go away. Maybe the guy was working on something and he didn't have the time to go to the door to take his order. That was fine, really, and at least he didn't have a long series of stairs to climb.

The elevator's door opened to a huge hangar-like floor with electronic devices and computers everywhere. Peter thought he made a mistake. Did he misheard the voice's instructions? All of a sudden, a flying orb came in front of his head and a metallic voice said:

"Please follow me, Peter."

"Okay..."

Better not upset the person on the other side. The orb lead the way to a corner of the floor full of glass showcases. Inside of them, different human-sized robots were displayed in full view, each one in a different shape and size. In the middle of the room, sprawled on a leather couch that had probably cost more than the whole appartment Peter lived in, was a man that he recognized immediately.

Tony Stark.

"Holy shit," he hissed.

"Funny, that's what I said when I first saw you onscreen."

Stark's face was pale and his shaky voice easily revealed the state of drunkenness he was in. Wasn't he supposed to be on the other side of the country? The last report he heard about the billionaire did mention California, but the man was able to fly anywhere with his suit so it shouldn't be a surprise. He was wearing an old pair of jeans and a dirty shirt with his sleeves rolled up. The dishevelled hair and the spot of grease on his cheek even gave him a more rugged and masculine look. How old was he again? Almost fifty? If all the men his age were as handsome as him, Peter wouldn't have any problem with choosing a romantic partner.

The thought was so random and weird it made him jump in surprise. He dropped both of the bags he was carrying: the shoulder bag with his belongings and the paper bag with the shawarma. Suddenly, it was as if something opened up in Peter's heart. He blinked twice, his mouth agape, and forgot to pick up the bag of food that rolled behind a huge potted plant. The arc reactor Stark had implanted in his chest shone brightly through his clothes for a second. Peter couldn't help but stare at it.

For fuck's sake, was he attracted to Tony Stark?

A million thoughts entered Peter's head. First, "Oh my god does that mean I'm gay?" followed by "If that's the case, I can't drool on girls with MJ anymore!". Yeah, that second thought was garbage, but he was excused, after all he was this guy who just discovered his sexuality after pining after girls for years, and holy shit did that mean he was bisexual? Why was he discovering now that he was bisexual? It wasn't the time for that! What time was it anyway?

His mind conjured the answer: midnight, at Stark Tower. Hey, it sounded like the name of a cool band. Midnight at Stark Tower. Or maybe the title of a mystery novel? He could try to write one. Maybe he would become a successful novelist and then, all of his monetary problems would be solved! Wouldn't that be sick?

"Mr Stark," he managed to say between two incongruous thoughts. "It's so nice to see you."

There, Peter discovered another thing: when nervous and aroused at the same time, his voice became extremely cool. That never happened with the girls he wanted to flirt with. On the contrary, he acted like a fool every time to the point of wanting to kill himself. Maybe it was something reserved to the guys? Maybe he would be smoother if he tried to switch to the male demographic?

In front of him, Stark chuckled.

"Oh my, you look delicious, Peter. Did you dress up for me? I'm flattered."

Peter tilted his head and tried to smile. At this moment, he saw something flash in Stark's eyes, but he had no idea what it was. He felt like barfing, but he had to say something, anything.

"It's not really for you. Leather is on high demand these days."

That was it. Peter's brain must have short-circuited when he saw Stark. He was spouting nonsense and oh fuck, was Stark sucking his finger? Why was he sucking his finger? Fuck fuck fuck he was looking at Peter and licking his lips, it was insane!

Peter leaned on the wall to catch his breath... and smirked. Nooo! Why did he smirk? Why did he do that? He wasn't a smirking kind of guy, he was more like the stumbling type! Stark was looking at him. Stark was looking at _him, Peter Benjamin Parker_! Why was he looking so sexy? Wait, he didn't think that, did he? Oh fuck, he thought Tony Stark was sexy!

"What do you want, Mr Stark?"

Of all the questions he could have asked! It was so rude, so brazen! Peter was frozen in place. He was dying. He would die at any moment now, and Aunt May would follow soon after. He wondered if Ned would accept to deliver an eulogy at his funeral. At the same time, he would hate it if he was the reason Aunt May died prematurely.

Peter was so, so fucked.

"Look, Mr Stark, I don't have all night."

Shiiiit. Peter cursed his damn mouth. Why couldn't he say something polite tonight? Ned always told him he was the most humble person he knew, so where did his supposed humility go?

Stark's eyes widened at his words. Peter lifted a single eyebrow. They observed each other for a few minutes.

"So?" Peter said in a shocking gasp.

Stark's lips trembled. He stumbled on his feet, looked at the window and sighed.

"I shouldn't have called," he finally said. "I'm drunk."

Peter felt his knees buckle against each other. He gulped.

"Let's say you are," his treacherous voice said, very calmly. "But that doesn't matter. What matters is what you want."

It didn't make any sense! Peter knew what _he_ wanted at least: that someone would make him shut up. Or kill him, whatever worked the best. In front of him, Stark's face lost all its color.

"I don't..." he muttered. "It was... I mean, I'm..."

Peter saw the man hesitate, make a few staggering steps in his direction, before he stopped a hair's breadth away from him. He was trembling like a leaf in fall, and it was so attractive Peter got hard, just like that. It was way too fucked up to think twice about it.

"Are you okay, Mr Stark?"

"Hit me," Stark said.

"What?"

Right then, Stark fell to his knees and began to weep. It was so random Peter froze completely in place. He couldn't move anymore.

"I've been so bad," Stark cried. "Pepper and Rhodey hate me. I deserve my punishment!"

Peter stared at the man at his feet. Then, Stark raised his head and looked at him. His hands grabbed Peter's leg and he stuck to him, still sobbing. His tears splattered on Peter's shoes.

"Punish me! Hit me, tell me I'm a failure, spit on me, I beg you!"

Stark rubbed his body against Peter's leg. By reflex, Peter moved his lower body. Stark rubbed harder on his foot.

The man was hard.

Peter's brain froze, like the rest of his body. Damn.

"Fuck me," Stark begged. "Wreck my body. I want you to break me!"

There was someone, somewhere, who was mocking Peter. He was sure of it.

The panic came in a rush. Peter jerked his leg, the one that Stark was hugging, in a motion so wide it made him lose his equilibrium. If you added Stark's weight and the fact that Peter wasn't used to the stiffness of the leather pants, it was not surprising that he fell.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

Peter's tongue finally decided to say the right thing. It was a pity Stark wasn't listening. In his agitation, Peter fell directly on Stark's body. His right knees was pressing on the older man's groin; his hands were on each side of his head. The look of rapture on Stark's face was fascinating. He moaned loudly, his eyes glassy, and jerked his head backward at the risk of banging it on the ground. Peter tried to cushion the shock with his hand but only ended up grabbing his hair with force. Stark moaned louder.

Peter glared at the man. Stark was visibly lost in pleasure. His hardened dick twitched under Peter's knee.

"My god, you're a slut!" he exclaimed before he could help himself.

He instantly regretted it and wanted to apologize, but then Stark opened his eyes. They were still teary, still glassy, but there was something in them, a silent demand, a plea. Peter's next words died on his lips. Instead, something rose from the depths of his chest, something unspeakable he didn't know was there.

"Slut," he heard himself say. "Fucking whore. You're worse than a dog in heat. You want my cock so much you're ready to grovel at my feet. It's pathetic. You're pathetic, I never met a scum like you. You're worth less than the dirt on my shoes. You're a loser who deserve to die."

These words, Peter heard them in more than one occasion in his enemies' lips. There was some variation, but more often than not, they trashtalked him like that every time he crossed their path, so it was something he was familiar with. What was different compared to those times, was that now he was the one saying them. It sounded weird coming from his own mouth, but under him, the effect was immediate. Stark's whole body twerked.

"Aaah! Aaah!" he panted, unable to speak a single word.

"Look at you," Peter continued. "You're weak. You do not deserve to be treated like a hero. You're no hero, you're a disgrace, a miserable little boy who weeps like an old woman."

Stark's dick became harder, so Peter pressed his knee against it. It must be painful, he thought. He felt sick, but he couldn't stop. Suddenly, he bent down to kiss the man under him. Stark moaned louder. Peter bit his lower lip, making him bleed.

"Slut," he whispered in his ear. "You like it, right? You want me to hurt you. You're a pervert who gets turned on by a boy who could be your son. Is the pain so pleasurable, Mr Stark? Do you enjoy getting stepped on?"

"Yes," Stark managed to hiss through his lips.

It must have been the stress, or the tiredness, or maybe the candied drug had an effect on him somehow. Peter raised his hand and slapped Stark on the cheek. The sound of the beaten flesh against his hand resonated in the night. Stark moaned again.

"More," he breathed.

Peter barely heard him. His other hand grabbed Stark's neck.

"You're such a pitiful dog, Stark. Look at me. Look at the boy who's strangling you."

Stark refused to look at him, so Peter bent down again to lick his split lip. He then lowered the hand he used to slap Stark to take his knee's place. He violently took hold of the man's dick through his jeans and wrung it.

This time, Stark shouted. It ended in a second. His dick twitched madly in Peter's hand then stopped moving.

Peter kissed him.

It was anti-climatic, in a way. Peter waited a minute before moving away, very slowly. He took the time to see if Stark was hurt, but aside from the small cut on his lower lip, he looked fine.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You're not hurt, are you?"

Stark stared at him... and laughed out loud. Peter didn't know if he should be relieved or offended. Maybe both? He didn't really know what happened, to be honest. Stark winked at him.

"I'm more than okay, can't you see?"

Peter sat next to the man. He was exhausted and overwhelmed. Stark smiled at him.

"You're good. I'll ask for you again next time, if there's a next time. I'll add an extra."

"What?"

"For your services. I want to purchase the whole package next time."

Peter stared confusedly at Stark.

"Hum... You want to add a tip for the chawarma?"

This time, it was Stark's turn to stare at him.

"What? What chawarma?"

Peter stood up to retrieve his own bag and the paper bag that rolled away. Unsurprisingly, the food got cold. He still gave it to Stark.

"A beef chawarma and a tabouleh," he said. "Sorry, I dropped it."

Stark blinked several times before he asked:

"What?!"

After a few minutes of confusion, two phone calls and a brief passage in the microwave for the chawarma, they settled on the couch to talk. Well, Stark talked and ate the chawarma while Peter waited in a frightened state, squeezing his bag to find some courage.

"So, you're saying you're not the callboy I hired for the night?"

"Hum... No?"

"You're the delivery guy from the lebanese restaurant where I ordered my dinner."

"Yes."

"And you would have told me that when?"

Peter flinched. Stark was observing him attently. Peter felt like an ant under a magnifying glass.

"I'm sorry. I... panicked."

"You were in a state of panic right then?!" Stark exclaimed, flabbergasted.

"Hum... I seem to have discovered a new side of myself?"

Stark laughed out loud.

"In more ways than one, I would say. For real?"

Peter was so embarrassed he wanted to die. Nothing happened like it was supposed to. When he was thirteen, he had planned to graduate high school with the honors, then go to college and find a well-paid job so he could take care of his relatives. He would then find a cute girlfriend and have a family with her, a very simple and realistic life plan. Instead of that, he got bit at fourteen by a radioactive spider that mutated him into a superpowered being, his uncle Ben died because of him and he had made Tony Stark come in his pants.

His life was a disaster.

"I'm sorry! I don't know what happened! You were there, and I was here, and you said and did those things, and I... hum... froze? And then we moved, and I... did that? Oh my god, it was so horrible, I'm sorry!"

Stark barely refrained another laugh.

"You're right, it was awful," he said between two exaggerated sighs. "Here I am, waiting for my meal to arrive, hungry for food and for more, and then bam! I got manhandled by the delivery guy. What an infamy! Oh Great God of Science, what did I do to deserve that?"

"I'm sorry!"

Stark didn't bother to hide his hilarity anymore and let out his laughs. Peter was mortified.

"Are you serious?" Stark cackled. "I was the one who asked you to hit me! Man, you're hilarious, Peter!"

"I am?"

"Yes! The truth is, I was waiting for a callboy specialized in BDSM practices. I got hungry while waiting for him, so I thought I had the time to order some food from my favorite place, but I got my order wrong, right? I should be the one apologizing, I guess."

"But... I'm alone? Where's the callboy?"

"That's why I called. He got assaulted on the way here, so he wouldn't have come anyway. I mistook you for him."

"Oh."

They went silent for a while. Peter didn't know what to do or think anymore. Was he in trouble? Should he try to find a lawyer? Stark was the first to talk again.

"So," he coughed. "Do you always dress like that for your deliveries?"

Peter shook his head in a brutal pace. His bag jolted along with his body; unbeknownst to him, something fell from it. A small bag of candy.

"No! I was supposed to be in jeans and a plain t-shirt. It's a long story, I didn't have the time to change before going to work. And before you ask, I don't dress like that normally."

"It's a pity. You look wonderful in those clothes."

"Hum... Thanks?"

"You're welcome."

Stark sighed before reaching for him. Peter glared at their two hands intertwined but didn't move. He was too scared for that.

"Look, I'm really sorry about... that," Stark continued. "If you want, I can give you the same amount of money I was supposed to spend on the callboy, plus a huge bonus for the inconvenience. And if you feel traumatized, I'll pay all the bills for the psychiatrist."

"I'm not! I mean, I may be traumatized, but it's not such a big deal, really! Not that I don't need the money, but it wasn't intentional, and you already apologized, so..."

"That settles it," Stark grinned. "Give me the details of your bank account, and I'll transfer the money. Do you need help in finding a psychiatrist?"

"I don't need a psychiatrist! I don't even have the time for one!"

"Why not?"

"Are you kidding me? I go to school and work two jobs at the same time, when will I find the time?"

"You're a college student? It must be difficult, if you work at the same time."

Peter shut up. He forgot he told Stark that he was eighteen. The other man looked thoughtful for a second.

"In that case and if you're not against it, I may have a job for you."

"What?"

Stark approached him slowly until his nose almost touched Peter's. His glare was hypnotic, even more so than the smile that illuminated his face. Peter had the sudden urge to say a prayer.

"Hum... Mr Stark? What are you doing?"

"You can call me Tony. If you accept my proposition, it may be better."

"What?"

Tony stuck their foreheads together and licked his nose. His eyes had a playful glint in it.

"I've never had a partner so compatible with my needs," he said in a breath. "If you're not against it, maybe I can keep you on my side when I have those special urges?"

"Huh?"

"In a word, I'm asking you to become my Dom."

Peter blinked. It wasn't what he expected at all.

"You WHAT?!"

"You heard me. I have an itch to scratch and you may be the best scraper I met so far. So?"

It was crazy. _Tony_ was crazy. Peter hurriedly took his hand back.

"I'm no scraper," he managed to croak. "No offense."

Tony came closer, almost leaning on him. Peter backed up on the couch.

"I won't take no for an answer," he grinned. "When I..."

Tony stopped talking when his hand touched the bag of candy that fell on the couch. He took it to look inside.

"Candy? Is that yours?"

Peter blanched.

"Give it back!"

Surprised, Tony raised it over his head. The pieces of candy shone in the light.

"Is that..."

Suddenly, he opened the bag to take one piece that he put in his mouth. Peter's eyes widened; he tried to make the other man spit the candy but to no avail. Tony took his time to taste it and smiled.

"I knew it. It's coca candy. You have good taste, Peter."

"It's not mine! I was supposed to throw it away!"

"It's not yours but you're still trying to get rid of it?"

Peter gritted his teeth, thinking about the charges that would follow him if Tony called the police. Sexual assault and drug possession. He was in deep trouble.

"Please forget it," he pleaded. "I'll do anything!"

"Anything?"

Peter immediately hated this new glint in Tony's eyes.

"Yes. Anything."

"Congratulations on your new job, Peter," Tony said with an exasperating look of triumph.

And that was how, at the ripe age of fifteen, Peter Benjamin Parker became a Daddy.

**Author's Note:**

> It's Sansa again!
> 
> So now I'm coming into the MCU. I have to admit the pairing Tony/Peter mainly works for me because of its aesthetic. And I'm a sucker for Younger Dorky Top/Older Playboy Bottom (it's very specific, I know...)  
> Like my Clex fanfiction, I'll take my time to update this story, because I'm a perfectionist who likes to suffer, apparently.
> 
> Thank you for reading and see you soon!


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